This is the Lady _Frances Sidney_, The Countess of _Suffolk_ was she; And this the Lord _Dudley Carleton_ is, And then they look up and see. Sir _Thomas Brumley_ lieth here, Death would him not reprieve; With his four Sons, and Daughters four, That once were all alive. The next is Sir _John Fullerton_, And this is his Lady I trow; And this is Sir _John Puckering_, Whom none of you did know. That's the Earl of _Bridgwater_ in the middle, Who makes no use of his Bladder; Although his Lady lie so near him, And so we go up a Ladder. [Sidenote: Kate. _He took more pains, than I would ha done for a Hundred such._] _Edward_ the First, that Gallant Blade, Lies underneath this Stone; And this is the Chair which he did bring, A good while ago from _Scone_. In this same Chair, till now of late, Our Kings and Queens were Crown'd; Under this Chair another Stone Doth lie upon the Ground. [Sidenote: Ralf. _Gad I warrant there has been many a Maiden-head got in that Chair._ Tom. _Gad and I'll come hither and try one of these Days, an't be but to get a Prince._ Dol. _A_ Papist _I warrant him._] On that same Stone did _Jacob_ sleep, Instead of a Down Pillow; And after that 'twas hither brought, By some good honest Fellow. _Richard_ the Second lieth here, And his first Queen, Queen _Ann_; _Edward_ the Third lies here hard by, Oh! there was a Gallant Man. For this was his two handed Sword, A Blade both true and Trusty; The _French_ Men's Blood was ne'er wip'd off, Which makes it look so rusty. Here he lies again, with his Queen _Philip_, A _Dutch_ Woman by Record, But that's all one, for now alass! His Blade's not so long as his Sword. King _Edward_ the Confessor lies Within this Monument fine; I'm sure, quoth one, a worser Tomb Must serve both me and mine. _Harry_ the Fifth lies there, and there Doth lie Queen _Eleanor_; To our first _Edward_ she was Wife, Which was more than ye knew before. _Henry_ the Third lies there Entomb'd, He was Herb _John_ in Pottage; Little he did, but still Reign'd on, Although his Sons were at Age. Fifty six Years he Reigned King, E'er he the Crown would lay by; Only we praise him, 'cause he was Last Builder of the _Abby_. Here _Thomas Cecil_ lies, who's that? Why 'tis the Earl of _Exeter_; And this his Countess is, to Die How it perplexed her. [Sidenote: Dol. _Ay, ay, I warrant her, rich Folks are as unwilling to die as poor Folks._] Here _Henry Cary_, Lord _Hunsdon_ rests, What a noise he makes with his Name? Lord Chamberlain was he unto Queen _Elizabeth_ of great Fame. [Sidenote: Sisly. _That's he for whom our Bells ring so often, is it not_ Mary? Mol. _Ay, ay, the very same._] And here's one _William Colchester_ Lies of a Certainty; An Abbot was he of _Westminster_, And he that saith no, doth lie. This is the Bishop of _Durham_, By Death here lay'd in Fetters; _Henry_ the Seventh lov'd him well, And so he wrote his Letters.